


Cat's in the Cradle

by FanGirlAndProudOfIt



Series: Ordinary World [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, mentions of physical abuse, victor gets angry and it's fucking frightening, yakov bitches about skating being jump happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirlAndProudOfIt/pseuds/FanGirlAndProudOfIt
Summary: If he were being completely honest, Yuri hoped he would never see her again. But if he were being completely honest, he also hoped he would.But that was in theory. In reality? Seeing her is a nightmare.





	1. Little Boy Blue

A gas leak. Exhaustion. A trick of the light. Unknown illness. Some kind of waking nightmare. A flashback, maybe? It had to be something. Because there was no possible way what he was seeing was real. It couldn’t be real. Because she wasn’t allowed here. Wasn’t allowed anywhere near him.

Yet somehow, he was seeing her. Her, with her long, light blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and green eyes that he swore pierced into his very core, seeing every fault and weakness and nothing else. Her, with her seemingly permanent scowl, inappropriate on her absurdly youthful face.

Her, with all her talent and athleticism, and absolutely nothing to show for it. Except him.

Yuri didn’t want to say anything, because speaking would make her real. And when he did speak, it sounded like someone else entirely.

“Mama?”

“Yuri,” Anna Plisetskaya’s smile was forced. Not that it ever looked natural. She was living proof that it was difficult to smile and scowl at the same time. “You’ve grown so much since I saw you last.”

He remembered when he saw her last. He didn’t like to think about it. Or acknowledge it. It was just one of those Things he needed to keep buried.

He swallowed, trying to stay in the present. Take in his surroundings. Where was he? He was at the rink. On a bench. About to put on his skates so he could get on the ice. He was to warm up while he waited for Yakov. Yakov was at a doctor’s appointment. Yakov wasn’t here. Yakov wasn’t here _Yakov wasn’t here_.

And _she_ was.

Yuri shook his head, standing up from the bench, skates forgotten, and tried to move away from her without betraying his fear.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He cursed himself at the wobble in his voice.

Her unnatural scowling smile kept firmly in place. “I wanted to see you. You’ve grown into quite the skater, Yuri.”

He forced himself to keep his breathing steady, but he could feel the tight ball of _fear_ lodge itself in his throat, making his hair stand up and his eyes go wide and fuck why did she make him so _weak_.

He wasn’t ten-years-old anymore. There were people here. Victor was training Katsuki. Mila was warming up her jumps. As was Georgi. Everyone was on the ice, everyone was here, she _couldn’t do anything_.

He just wished he could tell that to every instinct in him telling him to run, to cry, to curl into a ball and _hide_.

 _Weak_ , he thought to himself. _Weak, weak,_ weak. _You yell at everyone else, why not her?_

“You’re not supposed to _be here_ ,” he said again, because he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything else. They were the only words he could find. The only ones that made any sense.

Her smile finally fell, and she stepped towards him, maintaining her eye-contact with him. Why couldn’t he just look _away_?

“Come now, Yura,” she said, shaking her head as if he were once again an insolent child of ten. She brought her hand up to cup his face.

He felt as if he’d been electrocuted. The instant her hand touched his skin, he catapulted backwards, nearly tripping over his feet as they did their own bidding, which seemed to be to get as far away from her as possible.

His back hit the wall, and he crumpled to the floor, hands over his ears, head between his knees, trying to make himself smaller smaller _smaller_ so maybe she would stop looking at him. Wouldn’t come near him. Go _away_.

He hardly noticed when another voice entered the fray. He just shivered. Not from the cold.

* * *

 

Anger was often described as heat. An explosion. All-consuming fire. Victor supposed that was true for some. He supposed many people must experience anger that way if there were so many descriptions to that regard. But it was not what he felt.

Anger was a chill. A quiet frost that made him shiver with unreleased energy. Liquid nitrogen, freezing everything it touched until it was brittle and easily shattered. He despised that feeling. That power.

He’d been struck by anger before. Bruised by a cruel and calculated rage. The very idea of doing that to someone else was disgusting to him. So if he grew angry, he would try to remove himself from the situation.

There were exceptions, of course. Anna Plisetskaya was one of them.

The second Yura backed away from her, Victor was at the barrier, staring her down. She didn’t even spare him a glance, still staring at her son with no visible hint of genuine affection.

“Victor,” she said casually. Victor’s hands squeezed the barrier. He couldn’t look at Yura. It was too much. Too familiar.

“Get out of here, Anna.” Victor kept his voice low, steady.

“Oh how frightening,” Anna replied. “You gain a little height and suddenly fancy yourself intimidating. How adorable.”

“You are to stay away from Yuri,” Victor snarled. “Your father has called the authorities on you before and he will do it again.”

Anna stiffened, finally looking Victor in the eye. She had the same green eyes of her son, but they held none of his discipline or self-reflection. They were flat. Empty.

“I don’t see Yakov, do you? He has Papa’s phone number, and if you had it, you would have called him already.” Her voice was an icy tundra. “Leave me to talk to my son. Shouldn’t you be training your Japanese pet?”

A cold fog of rage nearly consumed him as Victor slammed one of his hands on the top of the barrier.

“Do _not_ make me hop this barrier, Anna Plisetskaya!” he shouted. The already noticeable silence in the rink was almost deafening following his outburst, and even Anna seemed startled. Victor wasn’t sure how long he could hold himself together. He couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not while she was still here. As long as he could keep her attention off of Yuri...

“ANNA!” came Yakov’s familiar roar from the entrance. “YOU LEAVE HERE BEFORE I CALL YOUR FATHER!”

Had Victor been in a less strung-out state, he would have been relieved. As it was, he was barely holding himself together. He breathed. He couldn’t fall apart. Not with her here. Just a little bit longer...

Anna whirled around, long hair whipping behind her. Her face set in a steely glare as Yakov barrelled towards her.

“I am here to see my son. It is my right,” she said. Her tone reminded Victor of a haughty teenager declaring her right to stay out late. Yakov stopped right in front of her nose.

“You lost that right six years ago! Leave! Now!”

Anna clenched her fists, her eyes flashing. “You cannot keep me from him forever, Yakov! He’s sixteen now!”

“I’m surprised you bothered to remember,” Yakov spat. “You know where the door is, Plisetskaya. Or would you rather have an escort.”

Anna gave one more longing look to the ice, and then brushed past Yakov towards the door.

Victor was vaguely aware of Yuri, who promptly fled the scene, headed right for the locker room, and Yuuri stopping Mila from going after him. Only vaguely.

His hands were shaking. His vision blurred. His ribcage felt like it was shrinking. Every breath more shallow than the last. He leaned all his weight into the barrier. His chest hurt. The yelling on the outside had stopped, but his mind reeled with the ghost of a voice he hadn’t heard in years, hand gripping his wrist, cruel gray eyes staring into his--

“Vitya.”

That voice. Victor whipped his head to the side to find it. And there he was, beautiful brown eyes warm and calming behind his glasses. He skated closer to Victor, slow enough so he wouldn’t panic.

“Vitya, I’m here. You’re alright,” he said, keeping his voice low. One of his hands grew close to Victor’s. “Are you alright if I touch you?”

Victor nodded, not trusting his voice yet. He needed Yuuri’s touch. It grounded him. Yuuri took one of his hands, and cautiously brought the other one up to cradle Victor’s cheek. He leaned into it immediately, Yuuri’s gentle sweetness a welcome relief from the turmoil of his past. The warm brown of his eyes a relieving contrast from the hard, steely gray that haunted him. He leaned forward, letting his forehead fall against Yuuri’s. His hands gripped his waist, pulling him closer.

Behind them, Yakov demanded answers.

“How did she get in here?”

“New desk clerk,” Georgi said. “He wasn’t informed that Anna was _persona non grata_. She said she was here to surprise her son, showed him ID, and he let her in.”

Yakov scoffed. “She surprised him alright.”

Victor’s breathing slowed to a normal rate, and the shaking stopped, leaving his limbs heavy and tired.

“I’m alright, Yuuri,” he said, kissing him briefly. “Thank you.”

Yuuri nodded, and reluctantly let go. Victor took one of his hands in his, just in case. He turned his attention to Yakov.

Yakov was worried, and not just about Yura.

“I’m alright, Yakov,” he said. It was only partially a lie. Yakov shook his head.

“I’m going to send you and Yurochka home with Lilia,” he said. “Neither of you are in any condition to skate now. I will not have you hurting yourselves.”

Victor couldn’t even bring himself to argue, which said something for how exhausted he was.

“I can take them home,” Yuuri said.

“No.” Victor turned back to his fiance. “You will stay here and skate. I will not be here, but you can take Yura’s ice time with Yakov.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Yuuri argued. “Neither should Yura.”

Victor kissed his forehead. “I will be fine. I will take Makkachin for a walk. I will take a nap. Lilia can make sure Yura is alright. But you need the ice time.”

Yakov grunted his agreement. “I agree. Lilia will accompany Victor and Yurochka home. Yuuri, you will train with me today.”

Yuuri still didn’t look like he liked the idea, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to win against both Yakov and Victor. Victor was relieved. He didn’t think he had any more energy to argue. Already he was finding it hard to focus on anything but his need to take a nap. Preferably with his dog.

“Now,” Yakov said, wearily. “Does anyone know where Yurochka went?”

“Yuri ran off when she left,” Mila said. “Towards the locker room.”

Yakov nodded. “Yuuri, you should be the one to go after him. He listens to you. You can calm him down.”

Yuuri fixed Yakov with a look that not many people would dare to. No matter how much he respected Yakov, Yuuri hated it when someone used Yura’s crush on him to their advantage, even when it was unintentional. Especially since poor Yura still thought it was a huge secret.

Yakov simply shrugged, though Victor noted that he looked a tad sheepish. Not so much that anyone but Victor would notice, but it was there.

Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “He will yell at me, and be unresponsive to Yakov. You’re the best bet.”

Yuuri’s face softened, and he nodded his consent.

“Alright. I’ll get him,” he pulled Victor down to kiss his cheek. “This might take a little while.”

“I’ll be alright, love,” Victor said, resisting the urge to force a smile. That would only make Yuuri worry more.

“Both of your, off the ice!” Yakov ordered. “Mila! I’ll work with you while Yuuri gets Yurochka!”

“Yes, Coach!”

Victor didn’t really remember leaving the ice. Maybe it was residual panic or the sheer exhaustion of the aftermath, but the next thing he knew he was sitting on the bench, staring at his skates, trying to make sense of the laces. He needed the skates off, but his fingers wouldn’t move right. Were his hands shaking? He wasn’t sure.

Then Yuuri was in front of him, already in his sneakers, untying the laces for him. Yes, his hands were definitely shaking.

Yuuri removed Victor’s skates and looked up at him, his eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

“Vitya, are you sure you don’t need me to come home with you?”

Victor shook his head. “I will be alright, _solnyshko_. Go now. Yura needs you.”

Yuuri hesitated, but nodded, kissing Victor briefly on the lips before going off to find Yura.

As soon as he was gone, Victor sighed and rubbed his temples.

This was going to be a long day.


	2. My Son Turned Ten Just the Other Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has a few questions, and Yakov has some answers. And some opinions on the current state of figure skating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay this actually got a weird amount of traction. Hello, everyone. I was going to have this chapter up sooner, but it went through some major rewrites. And then I added a chapter after it and holy fuck this story has been driving me nuts.
> 
> Before I start, I'm gonna mention a few things. I come from a family of figure skaters and figure skating judges. No, I'm not kidding. My mother was a skater, briefly. My father has been both a judge and a skater. He was also the judge you did not want to get. I lovingly call him the Simon Cowell of skating judges. My uncle is STILL a judge. Also my grandma apparently judged Tonya Harding??? Yeah. Dad said she was great athlete, but had a few choice things to say about her parents. What the fuck even is my life.
> 
> Anyway, all bitching about the state of figure skating nowadays is pretty much verbatim what Dear Old Dad said to me over the years. Particularly while watching the YOI routines over my shoulder (which was hilarious, by the by).
> 
> This is also where a lot of the triggers in the tags come in, so read with caution. It's not explicit, but it's discussed.

Yuuri found him hiding in a maintenance closet in the locker room, huddled in a corner with his legs pulled close to his chest, head buried in his knees, and hands over his ears. Yuri Plisetsky, a person who always did everything he could to appear bigger than he was, was curled into a ball trying to make himself smaller.

If he hadn’t already, Yuuri would have decided right then that he  _ hated _ Anna Plisetskaya.

“Yura?” he called, softly. Yura risked looking up, and Yuuri smiled. “Okay if I turn on the light?”

Yura nodded, wiping his eyes.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “Cover your eyes again and close them. It’ll be less of a shock that way.”

Yura did as he said without protest, and Yuuri flipped the light on.

“Okay. Uncover your eyes, and then open them.”

Yura did as he was told, blinking as he took in his surroundings. Yuuri always liked that trick, particularly for after an anxiety attack. It was less of a shock to the system, which lessened the chances of being sent right back into another attack.

“Are you alright if I sit next to you?”

Yura hesitated, but nodded. Yuuri slowly walked over, and then sat down, keeping enough distance so they weren’t touching, but close enough that Yura could seek touch should he need it.

“Are you alright to talk?” Yuuri asked. Yura opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shook his head, instead. Yuuri nodded. Nonverbal. Okay.

“Do you need me to leave?”

Yura grabbed his wrist, shaking his head frantically.

_ Please don’t leave me alone _ , his eyes begged.

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t leave,” Yura said, soothingly. “What do you need? Do you need me to touch you? Not touch you? I can do either--”

The next thing he knew he had an armful of Yuri Plisetsky. His arms were in a death grip around Yuuri’s torso, and his entire body felt like it was trembling. Yuuri’s protective instincts kicked in, and he held Yura just as tightly to his chest. He didn’t think himself a particularly comforting person (something he and Victor had in common and were doing their best to work on), but he knew anxiety and he knew panic. Yura needed to feel safe. Protected. Yuuri could do that much for him.

They stayed like that for a few moments, until Yura’s trembling subsided. He loosened his grip around Yuuri, but didn’t make an effort to pull away.

“She really left?” he croaked. Yuuri was relieved to hear him speak, but his voice was heartbreakingly small.

“Yeah, she’s gone,” Yuuri said. “Yakov had her running scared when he threatened to call your grandfather.”

Yura stiffened and pulled back, eyes wide.

“He didn’t, did he?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“He’s not going to, right?” His breathing grew shallower. “Grandpa can’t come here! He’s too sick to travel! He has heart problems! He  _ can’t _ !”

Yuuri shifted to face Yura, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Yura, look at me. Look at me, Yura.” He did. “ Match my breathing. Can you do that?”

Yura nodded, keeping his wide eyes on Yuuri.

Yuuri began his standard “in for four through the nose, out for seven through the mouth” exercise. He didn’t speak, only kept eye contact with Yura. His breathing started out shaky and forced, but grew more steady a couple minutes later.

“You good?” Yuuri asked. Yura nodded. “Okay. Yakov is sending you and Victor home with Lilia.” Yura opened his mouth to protest, but Yuuri held up a finger to silence him. “You have had two panic attacks within the hour. Which means you’re at risk for having another one if you’re overstimulated. And your limbs probably feel like they weigh a hundred pounds with all the stability of a late stage jenga tower. Am I wrong?”

Yura huffed, but didn’t deny it. “Well why is  _ Victor _ going home?”

“Same reason you are,” Yuuri said, not bothering to mince words. “Are you able to stand?”

Yura nodded, letting Yuuri help him up. He seemed too caught up in his own thoughts to protest. Then he blinked, and his eyes went wide again.

“The ex?” he asked. Yuuri nodded, surprised.

“You know?”

“Da,” he said. “I saw him have a breakdown when I was eleven. Yakov didn’t want to bother lying about what was right in front of me, and told me Victor loved someone who hurt him until he escaped.” He furrowed his brow, looking at Yuuri like he was going to ask him a question, then shook his head, deciding against it. “He tends not to talk about it.”

Yuuri put his arm around Yura’s shoulders, and was surprisingly not shrugged off. He must have still been pretty shaken.

“Come on. Lilia’s probably here by now.”

Turned out he was right, they found as they walked into the rink proper to see her arguing with Victor.

“Yuuri will be staying here for training, and a dog is not ample supervision.”

“I do not need supervision!” Victor whined. He turned and spotted the Yuris as they came closer. “Yuuri my love, tell Lilia I do not need a babysitter!”

Yuuri pursed his lips, letting go of Yura as he went to stand by Lilia.

“You don’t...” he said, hesitantly. Victor groaned.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

Yuuri smiled apologetically. “But... I would feel better if you had someone there if you needed them. A  _ human _ someone, Vitya.”

_ Having people around centers you, Vitya _ , was the message he was hoping to convey. Judging by the way Victor’s face softened, message received.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “As always.”

“Not always,” Yuuri replied, giving him a peck on the lips. “Just often.”

He saw Yura look away out of the corner of his eye. He admittedly did feel a bit guilty about that, but he couldn’t exactly put his relationship on hold because Yura had a crush on him. Even if he could, or wanted to, Yura would be furious if he did.

“We can pick up your dog on the way,” Lilia said, handing Yura his bag. “Did you drive here?”

“No, Yuuri’s afraid of Russian traffic.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lilia chuckled and gave Yuuri a rare smile. “Most sane people are. I expect you to still run through your basics and choreography.”

“ _ Oui, Madame _ .”

“Good.” She clapped her hands twice. “Vitya, Yurochka, with me.”

“ _ Oui, Madame _ !” they said in unison, following her out the door like ducklings.

“Go do your basics now, Yuuri!” Yakov called from where he was working with Mila. “Yurochka’s time was in three hours. I want you spending that time in the studio or the gym!”

“Yes, Yakov.”

Ballet would give him some time to think, anyway.

* * *

 

At first, Yakov hadn’t known what to make of Yuuri Katsuki. He was an anxious mess a lot of the time, but when he wasn’t, he was a stubborn mule. He was quiet and meek, but had a biting wit that was almost startling when he used it. He was sweet and gentle, but had a mean streak he wasn’t sure everyone had caught onto yet. He was a damn good skater, but good luck getting  _ him _ to recognize that.

It was the last part that still mystified Yakov, as he watched Yuuri run through an exhaustingly difficult step sequence like it was second nature. Even Victor didn’t have his artistry, and Victor knew it. Victor  _ reveled _ in it.

Yakov gritted his teeth as Yuuri fell out of a quad salchow. He knew Yuuri would have thrived better in the years before the Zayak rule, goddamn jump restrictions, and the abolition of compulsory figures. Before the sport became stagnated and jump happy. But these were the ramblings of an old man, as far as the rest of the skating world was concerned. As it was, the jumps were required, therefore his skaters needed to learn the damn jumps.

“Vitya says you flub your jumps when you have something on your mind,” he said. He kept his voice more level than he would for his other skaters. The yelling only stressed him out, and Yuuri listened without it anyway.

Yuuri got up from the ice, clearly thinking about what to say. That was his problem. He was always thinking too much. He couldn’t criticise that without being a tad hypocritical, though. The other skaters loved to theorize that Yakov had been like Victor in his youth. But no. He saw much more of himself in Yuuri Katsuki. Now  _ Lilia _ on the other hand...

“It’s about what happened this morning,” Yuuri said, bluntly. Yakov nodded. He hadn’t expected much different. Really, he was surprised he’d lasted this long without asking. He glanced at the clock. His other skaters were elsewhere, either in the dance studio, the gym, or home, as it was still technically the off season. It would be just him and Yuuri for a long while, Yakov had both Victor’s and Yurochka’s times vacated. He could stand to use some of the ice time for this.

“Anna Plisetskaya is what happened,” Yakov sighed. “I take it Yuri did not say much.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Not about her. At first he was completely nonverbal, and when he wasn’t, he begged me not to let his grandfather travel up here because he was too sick.”

Yakov’s heart clenched. “Nikolai is his only family. Besides  _ her _ . He worries.” He shook his head. “Nikolai’s heart has not been healthy for years. It is why he only goes to Moscow competitions. And sometimes he cannot even go to those. He’d love to, but he wants to be around for Yurochka for as long as possible.”

“What’s the story with Anna?” Yuuri asked, bluntly. Yakov enjoyed this side of him. When he wasn’t trapped inside his own head and allowed himself to be bold and take what he wanted. In this case, what he wanted was an explanation.

“A complicated one,” Yakov replied. “And yet, not so complicated when you get down to it.”

Yuuri fixed him with an unimpressed look he only gave to Victor when he was being particularly evasive with advice. Under different circumstances, Yakov might have laughed.

“Skate your figures while you ask your questions.” 

Yuuri nodded, immediately doing what he was told. Yakov always made his skaters skate their figures, however much they hated them and complained that they weren’t a requirement anymore (figure skating. Bah. Now it should be called Unreasonable Jump Requirements). It made them better skaters, gave them better edge control. He liked that Yuuri did them without complaint.

“I was her coach during her Novice years,” he explained. “Our personalities, frankly, did not match. She went with another coach when she reached the Junior level.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. “She was a skater.”

Yakov nodded. “I did not know her as well as Vitya did. They shared a coach before I managed to steal him away. But I knew her well enough.” Yuuri cocked his head in a silent question. “She was very much like her son, without any of his discipline. And her artistry was shit.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. It was almost comical watching him try to keep looking at Yakov while doing a one foot eight. “Oh.”

“From what I know from their coach at the time, Anna and Vitya clashed quite often,” he continued. He offered Yuuri a wry smile. “Partly because they are both their own brand of diva, but also because Victor could not stand her attitude. She thought the world revolved around her and that her talent could simply carry her through. Things were more explosive than Yurochka on a bad day.”

Yuuri smiled back. “Yeah, I can definitely see why Vitya wouldn’t get along with her. He can’t stand it when people say how ‘talented’ he is. He’s a total workaholic.”

This was why Yakov had taken to Yuuri, in the end. Aside from his awkward likability, it was clear how much he adored Vitya. His Vitya needed someone like Yuuri; someone he could take care of and nurture, but who could stabilize him and keep him afloat when he needed it.

“So what happened?” Yuuri asked.

“She got pregnant.”

Yuuri nearly fell in his ass. “She-”

“It was not outright stated,” Yakov explained. “But a sixteen-year-old girl with a promising career in a professional sport suddenly quits and goes to live with her family? It is not difficult to figure out.”

Yuuri shook his head, moving back into form. “And the father?”

“She never told anyone,” Yakov sighed. Yuuri stared at him.

“Did she at least tell Yura?”

“Not according to Nikolai. It seems the only person who knows is Anna.”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open, and stopped skating entirely. “You’re kidding me.”

“Yura has never expressed much interest in his father’s identity,” Yakov said. “But he does tend to collect father figures.” He eyed Yuuri pointedly, who proceeded to cough uncomfortably and move into a few paragraph loops.

He wondered if Yuuri had really caught his meaning. However much Yurachka would deny it, he very clearly admired Yuuri as a skater. He would watch Yuuri’s sessions with Victor as if hypnotized. Like a kitten watching a ball of yarn. He looked forward to when Yurachka got over his crush and allowed himself to admire Yuuri without shame.

Of course, once that crush was done, he would probably notice the Altin boy, which would mark the beginning of a completely different headache. Nikolai seemed to look forward to it, having called Yakov laughing hysterically after the  _ Welcome to the Madness _ debacle to tell him in no uncertain terms to play that video at their wedding should he not live to do it himself.

“So he just... grew up without any idea of who his father was.”

“Believe me,” Yakov said, keeping an eye on Yuuri’s feet. Perfect circles in the ice, as always. “That is the least of it. Now a paragraph bracket!” Yuuri nodded, doing as he was told. “Anna cannot share the spotlight.”

“Then why’d she get him into skating?” Yuuri called from across the ice.

“She did not. Yura asked his grandfather to sign him up. He proved to be her son in every way, but he was more motivated to listen to his coaches, thus giving himself a more promising start than she.

“I do not know everything, but I know Anna well enough, and she is not a very complicated person. I know it made her angry. According to Nikolai, she never went to any of his competitions, and kept trying to convince him to stop taking Yura to practice.  And... well, again, I do not know everything, but something happened when he was ten that made Nikolai take full custody and then send him to train with me in Saint Petersburg with specific instructions to never let Anna near him. Yura was different when he first arrived here. Not less angry, but quieter. I’d go as far to say suffering in silence. She has shown up a few times since.”

Yuuri skated a simple circle eight, pondering. “I got that impression. I couldn't understand everything Victor said to her, but from what I got...”

“Until now, she's never actually gotten to speak to him. Vitya actually ran into her the second time she tried it. He hadn't made the connection between them until then.” Yakov cringed at the memory. “Vitya did not take it well. He had recently gone through some... difficult times.”

“You mean Dima,” Yuuri said bluntly.

Yakov felt his eyebrows go up. “So you know, then.”

Yuuri nodded. Yakov wondered if he even realized he was simply skating in circles now. “Vitya told me about a month ago.”

“Good. Good,” Yakov said, low enough that he wasn’t sure that Yuuri heard. Dima Vavilov was one of the reasons Yakov had been wary of Yuuri at first, if not  _ the _ reason. The sight of his Vitya with a blackened eye and unshed tears haunted him to this day. Anyone who dared hold Vitya’s heart was automatically going to be under scrutiny.

Of course then it became very apparent that Yuuri Katsuki was about as threatening as Vitya’s poodle, so the question went from “Is Vitya safe?” to “Is this man a detriment to his career?” to which the answer turned out to be a resounding “No”. And, well. Victor loved him. Seeing that bright, genuine smile on Victor’s face for the first time in years had Yakov forgiving Yuuri for taking Victor from the sport for a time.

Yakov coughed. “In any case, Yura saw the aftermath of that. He may not have seen his mother, but he came across Vitya right after the fight went out of him. We made sure he never knew when she came around. We didn't want to scare him. We notified Nikolai each time, and he's always been able to pull her back.”

Yuuri skidded to a stop. “You said he doesn’t travel.”

“He doesn’t. He calls her. Threatens to call the authorities,” Yakov explained. “The fourth time she called his bluff, and then he did it. I’d honestly thought we were done with her after that.”

“So why do you think she’s here now?”

“He won gold at the Grand Prix Final, silver at Russian Nationals, and silver again at Worlds. He was on the podium in every major event of his senior debut, and now he is nearing his second season.” He scoffed. “I can only assume some kind of emotional sabotage.” Yuuri was quiet. “You are thinking very loudly.”

“Sorry,” he said, distractedly. “I was just... thinking about how he is with my friend Yuuko.”

“And how is that?”

“Well... I think my parents were a little much for him to deal with,” Yuuri explained. “Vitya adores them, but he hardly remembers his own parents. But Yura really connected with Yuuko. She's pretty much the... anti-Anna. Got pregnant young, stopped skating afterwards, married the father, and is now happily raising three skating triplets.”

Yakov was silent for a moment as he let the words sink in, thinking about how Yura interacted with Lilia. How she could scold and fuss over him without much protest.

“I suppose he collects mother figures as well,” he said, sadly. “Are those all the questions you had?”

Yuuri nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Now do that quad salchow again. Your takeoff was sloppy. No flips until you get that salchow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of Joyful, Joyful* Exposition exposition rush it out ASAP.
> 
> Also, I'm going to reiterate that I did not know that Yuri's mom had a canon career before I started plotting this. By the time I found that out, I'd already sold my soul to the one I have here. Though I am kind of proud of how fucking close I was.
> 
> So now we know Anna's backstory, and more about her relationship with her kid, and more on what was up with Victor last chapter. Ever see a headcanon and just yell "HOW DARE YOU MAKE SENSE!" and then it's stuck with you forever? That's where Victor's abusive ex-boyfriend came from.
> 
> And like I said above, all of Yakov's bitching is straight from my father. The man like physically cannot watch skating on TV because it pisses him off. It's kind of hilarious.


	3. Man on the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Victor bond over the worst things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry this is so late. Some shit went down at home, and long story short my dad and step-mom are getting a divorce, and then I started rereading the Percy Jackson series as a coping mechanism and this fell at the wayside. But I am fucking determined to finish this story, because it's worth writing and I love it, so it's still going!
> 
> Here goes!

As resistant as Victor had been to the idea, he had to admit Lilia seemed to have perfected post-panic care while still retaining her stern Prima Ballerina discipline. Within seconds of entering the house, she sat them on the couch, wrapped them in a heavy quilt, and, like an aging Disney Princess, ordered their respective pets onto the couch with their masters. Then she told them they could pick a movie from their satellite service and gracefully breezed out of the room to make them hot chocolate.

It was enough of a hurricane of nurture that Victor and Yura could do nothing but sit on the couch in bemused silence while being very thoroughly cuddled by Makkachin and Potya.

“She throws this thing on Yakov when he gets too worked up,” Yura said, resigned.

“Does she?” Victor asked, relaxing more into the cushions, pulling his legs up to the couch with him (when had he taken off his shoes?). No one had dared ask questions or even point it out when they all realized that Yakov and Yura had simply... not moved out of Lilia’s house. However, it was a subject of great debate and speculation among the skaters. Gossip that Yura usually refrained from commenting on.

“Da,” he said. “At first she’d just throw it at him and he’d get the message and sit on the couch until he’d calm down. Now she’s... nicer about it.”

Victor sat up straight, his interest piqued. “Nicer, how?”

“Wraps it around his shoulders and helps him to the couch,” Yura grumbled. “I swear, I am this close to just yelling at them to kiss already and put me out of my misery.”

“So they’re  _ not  _ back together.”

“I  _ wish _ !” Yura exclaimed. “They’re  _ pining _ ! It’s the fucking worst! I’m living with a bullshit romance novel!”

As much as Victor was loving this new piece of insight (which he would  _ definitely _ be discussing with Mila ate length), it was not lost on him what they were doing; focusing on something considerably less stressful than what had transpired that afternoon. He was far more self-aware than people gave him credit for.

“What kind of pining are we talking here?” he asked, conspiratorially. No matter how self-aware he was, he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. “Longing looks? Held gazes? Words unspoken?”

“Fucking  _ all of the above _ !” Yura threw his arms in the air in frustration, earning him a very pointed glower from his  _ very _ perturbed cat. “Sometimes they have like... moments. And then one of them will start to say something and then just... not, and I’m sitting there wondering if I should yell or leave to watch a better movie!”

He plopped back against the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. If he noticed that he was now leaning against Victor, he didn’t say anything, and Victor wasn’t about to tease him about it.

The ensuing silence was heavy, but not awkward. It was more that they suddenly became aware of how utterly exhausted they both were. Victor could easily have fallen asleep right then and there.

“She’s done this before, hasn’t she.”

It took Victor a second to make sense of what he said, and once he did, he didn’t answer right away. Yakov had given him very explicit instructions to not tell Yura when his mother tried to make contact. He hasn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t his call to make. But Yura wasn’t stupid, clearly. So Victor couldn’t exactly lie to him.

“She has,” he said, finally. Yura nodded.

“How many times?”

Victor sighed. “Four. I didn’t know until the second time.”

“When I was eleven.” He spoke as if he’d already put it all together.. “That time I saw you...”

“ _ Da _ ,” Victor said. “Yakov told me not to say anything. So I didn’t.”

“You agreed with him?”

“That’s... a complicated answer,” Victor said. “I did as I was told because it was not my decision to make. He said you’d been through enough and telling you would only give her the result she wanted.”

“But...?” Yura prompted.

“But...” Victor agreed. “It did make me wonder if... if Dima had ever tried to contact me.”

“The fucker who hit you.”

Victor couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. Everyone else (well, everyone who  _ knew _ ) tried to tiptoe around the subject. Even Yuuri. He didn’t mean to, but he’d been raised in such a loving environment, and his first real experience with love had been with Victor. He had no context for what Victor had been through. Unfortunately, Yura did.

“Yes,” he said, smiling sadly. “The fucker who hit me.”

“Did you  _ want _ to know?” Yura asked.

Victor shook his head. “I thought about it for a long time, but in the end, I came to the conclusion that I did not. Dima was a part of my past that I wanted to leave there. Yes, there were some things I wanted to say to him, fantasized about, even. But that was not the closure I needed.”

“What was?” Yura asked, quietly.

“Realizing that I could be loved outside of skating. That I was worthy of love. That I did not need to put on a mask or play a role to be accepted.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “One day, I asked Yuuri what he wanted me to be to him. And he said he wanted me to be exactly what I was. That, and everything that followed, was my closure.”

Victor was ready to doze off when Yura spoke again.

“Yakov should have told me. Keeping it from me just made it worse when I saw her,” he said. “I do not like being blindsided like that.”

Victor hmmed, eyes still closed. “That’s fair.”

Neither of them spoke after that, and before they knew it, they were asleep, cuddled by their pets, and leaning against each other. They were not woken up until Yakov and Yuuri arrived.

_ After _ Yuuri got a new phone background, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so much shorter, y'all. It was one of those things where it was a scene I needed and couldn't cut, but putting it with another scene felt wrong. Thus, shorter chapter. *sigh* The writer's life.


	4. We'll Have a Good Time Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is struggling. He can't skate. He can't dance. Nothing he does can make her go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams*
> 
> I'm sorry this was even more delayed than the last one, but this one also turned out to be a case of me thinking I knew exactly what it would be and then nothing was working and I had to rework the damn thing completely. Also school started. Senior in college, I'm old I'm gonna die.
> 
> Anyway, I really need to get this done soon, because VampireMiw and I have another fic planned called 21st Century Breakdown (he posted the first chapter already) and in order to actually write that one, this one needs to be finished because plot tie-ins.
> 
> *screams*

It was probably unhealthy to beat your feelings into submission via punching bag.

Actually it was _definitely_ unhealthy, but Yuri didn’t care anymore. He needed to get the exercise in and nothing else today was working for him.

Yakov required all of his students to take basic self-defense classes. The punching bag was there to work on technique, but Yuri and Victor were the only ones who used it with any consistency, and Yuri far more than Victor. It was a way to get out any extra aggression.

He hadn’t been able to skate. That pissed him off. Every time he tried a jump all he heard was JJ laughing at him from the podium. _Her_ telling him he wasn’t good enough. Telling him in every possible way that he was a mistake. He nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the ice. So Yakov sent him to the studio. That usually calmed him down when he was overwhelmed.

Except Yakov missed that the reason the studio calmed him down is that he usually went with Katsuki. And it was Katsuki and Victor’s day off. So instead of spending time in the studio alternating between refining his programs and mooning at Katsuki, he was left alone with his thoughts. It was a lot easier (and more enjoyable) to pathetically stare at Katsuki than it was to daydream about pathetically staring at Katsuki. Those daydreams tended to wander down the road of “stop it you idiot he’s eight years older than you and he’s engaged to Victor”, which always tumbled down a ravine of “you’re not good enough and no one will ever love you” and frankly, if he had wanted those thoughts, he would have just stayed on the ice.

So now here he was, well on his way to making Yakov replace yet another punching bag, and still not feeling any better.

He thought of every medal he had that wasn’t gold and imagined he was bending and breaking every single one.

_Jab-jab-cross._

JJ’s smug grin.

_Uppercut._

Victor’s face that day when he was ten.

_Jab-cross-left uppercut-cross._

Yakov keeping secrets.

_Jab-cross-hook-cross._

Katsuki’s sweet, comforting smile that made him feel weak and powerful all at once.

_Jab-right cross._

His breakdown after his mother left.

_Right cross-Left hook-Right cross._

His breakdown on the ice that morning.

_Jab-Right uppercut-Left hook-Right hand._

His breakdown right before Grandpa took him away from her.

He lost all technique and side kicked the bag so hard that it came back and knocked him on his ass.

Right. So boxing wasn’t helping, either. Maybe if he had someone to actually hit. But that would probably send him to jail, which would give him a whole different set of problems.

He pressed the heels of his hands on his eyes.

There was too much to think about. Too much hurt and betrayal and anger. Anger at too many people, himself included. He hated it. Hated the anger, the fucking situation, his own weakness, the fact that he wished he’d told Victor and Yuuri to delay their day off because he still needed them at the rink so he wouldn’t fucking fall apart.

“Yuri? You alright?”

Fucking shit, it was Mila. She couldn’t have shown up _before_ he was lying on the floor in a puddle of sweat and self loathing?

He didn’t move from his spot. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. Instead, he heard her walk into the room and sit down beside him. Of fucking course.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside him, possibly hoping he would speak first. But Yuri didn’t have the energy to speak. He could barely find the spare brainpower to consider telling her off.

“I know you don’t like being fussed over. So I’m not going to do that.”

Fucking hell, couldn’t she just go away and leave him alone?

“I mean... I’m worried about you. And I know you hate that, too, but that’s what happens when people care. They worry.”

Couldn’t she worry a little further away from him?

“Yavok didn’t tell me anything, by the way. I just wanted to let you know. In case you thought the entire rink knew. Most of us don’t. Yakov said that any information needs to come from you.”

Well that didn’t stop him from filling in Katsuki, now did it?

“All I know is that Yakov won’t let me make a deal with the Mob to make your mother disappear. He said I didn’t need to owe them any favors. I think I could take them, though. What do you think?”

Yuri uncovered his eyes and stood up, walking to his backpack and shouldering it.

“Tell Yakov I’m going home,” he said. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Her and her _pity_.

He brushed past her before she could say anything else.

He felt weak enough as it was.

* * *

 

When he stepped outside, the sun was shining, and the sky was unmarred but for a few thin, translucent clouds. The cold would set in in a few weeks, but for now, Saint Petersburg was warm and sunny. The afternoon was peaceful, if you ignored the lawless hellscape Russia called traffic.Yuri let himself breathe it in, hoping his mind would mimic the weather. Because right now it felt more like the traffic.

It would be his first time walking home alone since his mother showed up. Victor and Yuuri Katsuki had taken to being his bodyguards just in case she made another attempt at contact. But today he was alone.

He opened his eyes, and turned to walk towards his bus stop. He could do this. She hadn’t shown up again since that first day. Yakov yelled at her. Grandpa yelled at her. She was gone.

“Yuri.”

No. No no no no _no no no_.

She wasn’t gone. She was behind him.

One part of him said to turn around and face her. Another said to make a break for it. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to either one.

The three responses to danger; Fight, flight, or freeze.

Yuri was dead prey.

He felt her walk closer; felt his entire body stiffen and his posture shrink in response. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He could only listen as her footsteps grew louder, and then circled around him until they were face-to-face. And there she was, all piercing cold eyes and unnatural smiles. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. And Yuri couldn’t do a damn thing about it.  He was so weak. _Fuck_ , he hated himself.

“We did not get to speak when I came to the rink,” she said, cooly. “And then you were with Victor and his...” She sneered, like the words tasted sour. “ _Student.._. and they would not have allowed me to speak.”

Yuri’s legs shook. “You’ve been... _watching_ me?”

“Only because I wanted to speak to you, Yuri.”

“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” he said, desperately. “There’s a no contact order! You’re supposed to stay away!”

“But don’t you want to know why I’m here?” she asked. She tried for light teasing. But her words would only come off as threatening to Yuri’s ears.

“I know why you’re here!” he said, weakly, willing himself not to cry. “You’re trying to scare me! Get me in a bad headspace before the season starts!”

Anna scoffed. “Is that what Yakov told you? Please. He lacks imagination. No, Yuri. I have an offer.”

Yuri’s insides went cold. “An... an offer?”

“I am too old to resume my career as a skater.” If she was trying to sound professional, she failed. Her voice carried all the bitterness and thinly-veiled contempt he remembered from his childhood. “But that does not mean that I still don’t know the sport. I would like to coach you, Yuri.”

Of all the things she could have said, this was the one thing he hadn’t prepared for. Had never even considered. He could barely think, let alone think of a response. His mouth and brain were disconnected.

“Think about what we could do together, Yuri.” She sounded excited, now. Like his silence was exactly what she’d hoped for. “Yakov is old. He only has a few years left, and he is an overrated coach, anyway. Demands all the wrong things from his skaters with real talent.”

“You can’t coach me!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Legally! You... you’re not allowed...”

“Because of the no contact order?” she asked, casually. “But you’re in the process of being emancipated, aren’t you, Yura?”

Yuri shook his head. “Don’t call me that.”

He didn’t ask her how she knew. He didn’t want to know. The very fact that she knew that was terrifying enough. It was something that was under wraps. That the press wouldn’t even know about until it was done. How had _she_ found out?

“So,” she said, as if he hadn’t even spoken. “What do you say, Yurachka?”

“Don’t call me that, either,” he said, thickly. He felt his throat closing. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. He felt like he was drowning on land. How fucking pathetic was he? How fucking _stupid_ was he? Listening to her? Letting her keep talking? Not screaming or calling the cops or running inside?

“Hey Plisetskaya!” Mila shouted from the top step. “Last I checked, you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this rink! If you’re looking for the _public_ skating rink, try the other end of town!”

Anna’s head whipped towards Mila so fast, Yuri thought her neck would snap. He almost hoped it would.

“And who are _you_ , little girl?” she sneered.

“Mila Babicheva,” Mila declared, walking gracefully down the steps. “Number three female skater in the world.”

“Number three.” Anna scoffed, and rolled her eyes. “Yakov could not get you above bronze?”

Mila smiled like she always did when she got under someone’s skin. Yuri knew what she was doing. Anna had her complete attention now. Which meant...

With her words, attention, and eyes off of him, Yuri took booked it down the sidewalk. He didn’t know where to go. She might know where he lived. And if she didn’t, she might find out. He needed to get somewhere safe. Where she might not find him.

Without thinking, he ran in the opposite direction of the bus stop, towards the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think Yuri Plisetsky beats the shit out of a punching bag while listening to Eye of the Tiger you're wrong.
> 
> This chapter can also be called Yuri Goes Full Rocky, and Anna Goes Full Vader.
> 
> Buy your torches and pitch forks in the foyer, the mob to chase Anna out of town will be forming soon, I'm sure.
> 
> Also I spent way too long on a boxing website trying to bullshit that first scene.

**Author's Note:**

> So fun fact: I did not know there was a canon past career for Yuri's mother until after I'd already sold my soul to my headcanon for her. So no, she's not a former Russian idol like in canon (because I'm not that creative).
> 
> Am I going to humanize Anna? Well, I think she's about as human as you can get. Selfish, petty, quick to place blame.
> 
> Am I going to make her sympathetic? No. No I am not. There will be no crying for the devil here. There are enough of those stories around and I am not interested in adding to the list. The closest thing to sympathy she gets from me is "Cool motive, still murder".


End file.
